It’s week 28 and I have gone into hiding.
As my bump grows, so to does my agoraphobia. I don’t want to leave my house, ever. The only time I do is to meet friends for cake at 11.30 on a Saturday morning and that’s so I can get home in time to watch a marathon of Teen Mom on MTV. Invited out to town? No thanks, I have a date with Private Practice and a bowl of chicken wings.
I used to joke with the bessies that when I was with child I would go into confinement in a large country house on the south coast, where I would spend my days wearing long flowing nighties, caressing my belly and reading Jane Austen. The reality is more fat pajama-shaped and filled with a million Twix bars.
The fella, I’m sure, is somewhat perturbed. I bolt out of the bed at half six on a Saturday morning, whispering psychotically about getting up to Superquinn when the bread is out of the oven and dropping by the 24 hour Tesco before the crowds get there. I don’t like the other shoppers, you see. I want to be able to meander around at my own pace, without fear that some granny will try to ram me with her trolley (that actually happened, incidentally, in Dunnes of Cornelscourt during the Big Freeze).
Since discovering that I can watch movies online and that I can make my very own plastic cheese nacho sauce with a few minutes of dedication and a teaspoon of jalapeno pickle juice I see no need to go out and like nothing better than a bath, my cuddliest (ugliest) jammies, a couch sized duvet and the fella.
Current obssessions include:
The first series of One Born Every Minute. Watching women scream like The Exorcist really calms me – I don’t think I’d make that noise if I was being sawn in half. It puts me at ease, which I know is bizarre, but there’s something about knowing at some level what to expect that makes labour seem less… barbaric.
My child and his amazing abilities. He is responding to the fella now, which is amazing, and although the fella thinks I poke the baby too hard when I try to get him moving (I so don’t by the way) it’s proving to be a pretty cool time for us. Our child is at his liveliest between 11pm and 2am during which he summersaults and pole vaults and generally shows me who’s boss.
Shouting at women who try to give me their babies. This disturbing turn of events began over the last few weeks when women with babies suddenly started thrusting their offspring at me. I don’t like holding other people’s babies. I am not a baby person – I’m too scared of them and their devilish ability to puke at a second’s notice. I LOVE my child, and a few select others but I’m not a gooey, soppy baby lover. I’m just not, ok?